


How We Find Infinity

by Pandemicron



Series: Infinity [1]
Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber
Genre: Animal Abuse, Background Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-05-07 10:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19207558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandemicron/pseuds/Pandemicron
Summary: Alonzo discovers a painful secret about Pouncival, leading to the development of a relationship neither one of them expected. Building trust isn't easy, but they give it their best shot--until an old enemy comes looking to tie up loose ends.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story's alternate title is "I Regret Nothing". Let's just say I was rewatching the film and really thought both Alonzo and Pouncival's makeup was on point, and then I promptly tripped and fell on my keyboard.
> 
> Complete at 18k words. Yeah, I don't know how that happened either.
> 
> Background pairings for those who are curious: Munkustrap/Demeter, Mistoffelees/Tugger, Alonzo/Cassandra (past), Cassandra/Coricopat, Plato/Victoria, and Etcetera/OFC.

The Junkyard was damp on the best of days, just another aspect of living in the city. Alonzo never really minded it, per se—having spent most of his life on the streets, he’d stopped complaining about wet fur and muddy paws a long time ago. So long as there were mice to catch and some shelter to keep out the rain, he was good.

The problem was that it was also bloody  _ cold. _

Certainly not the worst the tribe had ever seen—apparently a freak snowstorm had cancelled the entire Ball some years back, Straps once told him—but there were cats that were built for cold weather, and others that had been bred to warm laps. And while it had been a good many years since Alonzo had seen the inside of a human house—and he rather liked it that way, thank you very much—his short fur and lack of an inner coat meant he was currently on the hunt for anything that might grant him some warmth in this blasted May chill.

Any other time, he might have sought out Cassandra, or Bombalurina, or any of the numerous queens who’d been his yearmates in seasons past. Certainly curling up with another cat in a secluded den would be the surefire way to warm up, and Cassandra, especially, was always up for a little extra fun if he played his cards right. But she’d made it clear that Coricopat would be her yearmate this season, which meant she was off-limits, at least for the time being. And the rest of the queens this afternoon seemed more inclined to each other’s company, disappearing into their dens without a thought for the toms.

Alonzo sighed and took a running leap atop the old car, nodding at a sleepy Skimbleshanks as he passed. From this vantage point he could see almost the entire Junkyard, piles of rubbish and refuse extending in all directions for what seemed like miles. He caught flickers of movement here and there, other cats bedding down or gossiping or playing or perhaps seeking shelter from the cold like him. But wait—there: a parting in the clouds, a shaft of pale yellow sunlight casting itself down into the far northeast corner. It wasn’t perfect, and would probably disappear before he got there, but lord, would it feel nice.

It seemed to take forever to navigate his way. Sometimes Alonzo forgot how big the Junkyard actually was, how many meandering pathways there were in and out of the rubbish piles that sometimes seemed to stretch skyscraper-like up into the sky. Most of the tribe’s strays made their dens close to what they called the Junkyard’s mainstage: that clearing where every year they danced and sang under the Jellicle Moon. Now it seemed he was approaching the Junkyard’s true outskirts, far away from the echoes of the rest of the tribe, a sheltered corner he had never explored before.

He wound his way around an old cracked television set and—finally. The clearing now before him was tiny, a few feet across at most, with gathering puddles and loose papers tossed here and there by the wind. But what luck! The shaft of sunlight he’d spotted earlier still fell across the ground, warm and inviting, and Alonzo grinned and prepared to step forward—

Movement out of the corner of his eye. Instinct defined any cat, Jellicle or not, and he froze, every muscle in his body going completely still as he watched a shape resolve itself from the shadows thrown by the sun. Four-legged, pointed ears, and a tail—feline, but friend or foe? And then the figure stepped into the light, all white with patchy browns and blacks, and Alonzo couldn’t help but blink.

He hadn’t thought any of the other Jellicles wandered out this far, and especially not someone as young as Pouncival. Sure, the other tom was technically full grown, but his antics around the Junkyard made it so that Alonzo always saw him as something of an adolescent. He should’ve been back at the mainstage, playing pranks with Plato and Tumblebrutus or being fussed at by Jennyanydots. What was he doing all the way out here?

Pouncival himself didn’t seem to notice anything amiss—Alonzo must’ve been downwind of him—because he paused in the sunlight for a moment, closing his eyes as if enjoying the warmth. Maybe that was it: maybe Pouncival had seen the clouds part as well, and sought out a nice sunbathing spot. In that case, Alonzo could just invite him to share; there was plenty of room for the both of them, and it wasn’t like—

 But now Pouncival was moving again, striding out across the clearing with purpose. Except—no, not striding. Alonzo frowned, watching the other tom walk: three paws down, and then—hitch. It was subtle yet clear under the pale sunlight. Something was wrong with Pouncival’s hind leg.

He couldn’t see anything obvious from where he was standing. The white fur of Pouncival’s leg was clean and well-groomed, no sign of clear injury. Yet he dragged the foot behind him ever so slightly as he moved, lifting it just a half-second later than the others. What had happened? Had he been attacked? Then why hadn’t he raised an alarm, or displayed other wounds?

The clouds above moved and the sunlight faded away, leaving the clearing as grey and dreary as the rest of the Junkyard. Pouncival didn’t seem to mind, though, climbing carefully up atop a nearby rubbish pile. As Alonzo watched, he crouched down, seemed to pick an invisible target in the middle of the clearing, and leaped.

And crashed. Alonzo winced as Pouncival’s bad leg crumpled on impact and the younger cat went sprawling with a soft cry. Before he could do anything, though, Pouncival was already dragging himself back up, turning to glare at his leg as if it had personally offended him. He gave it a shake, then turned and began climbing back up the pile.

Then he jumped again. And crashed again. And again, and again. Alonzo crouched in the shadows behind the broken television and felt something in his heart tighten as he watched Pouncival force himself back up after a particularly bad fall, panting with exertion. It didn’t take a genius to see what he was doing: trying to force his leg back into full function through repeated trials. And it actually seemed to be working: he’d stuck a couple of decent landings, but the way his face twisted after each one made it obvious it wasn’t comfortable. His leg had to be on fire by now.

Even so, he stuck with it. Alonzo watched as Pouncival began the slow, painful climb back up to his starting spot, and shook his head. Even if the injury was old—and it had to be, Pouncival obviously treated it like an annoyance that had been around for a while—why hadn’t he gone to the rest of the tribe about it? Sure, as far as Alonzo knew, Pouncival himself didn’t have any humans, but that didn’t mean one of the other Jellicles’ owners couldn’t be called upon to take him in and work whatever magic they used to restore even the most grievous of wounds. Or if he didn’t want that, at least some of the older cats could tend to him, maybe teach him some better ways to look after the leg. He didn’t have to be out here all by himself, blundering about when he had an entire tribe to support him.

Another leap, another crash and a yelp. Alonzo sighed and stepped out into the clearing. “Pouncival.”

It was like his voice sprung a live wire; the other tom was up and pressed back against the edge of the clearing in a heartbeat, back arched, eyes wide. “A-Alonzo!” His gaze searched the shadows behind him, though Alonzo wasn’t sure what he was looking for. “How—How long have you been there?”

_ Long enough _ , Alonzo didn’t say. He cocked his head instead. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

Pouncival swallowed and shifted so that the offending limb was out of sight, tucked behind his quivering body. “Nothing.”

“It didn’t look like nothing.”

That got him a sharp glare, though Pouncival didn’t approach, still pressed up against the garbage pile. His gaze flicked about the clearing as if searching for escape. Alonzo had no idea why. Pouncival knew who he was, knew they were both Jellicles. Why was he so afraid? “I—I had an accident. But it’s fine. I can still hunt and dance and everything is  _ fine _ .”

“That’s not—”Alonzo stopped to take a breath. “That’s not what I meant. You could seriously hurt yourself trying to take care of it on your own like this. You should tell the others, let Jenny or Jellylorum take a look at you. That’s what Jellicles do. That’s what a tribe is for.”

He had no idea why, but Pouncival’s expression abruptly darkened. The other tom drew lips back from his fangs, sudden fury warping everything about him so that Alonzo actually took a step back, heart rabbiting with adrenaline. This wasn’t the young, playful tomcat who liked pranking the kittens and sometimes giggled so loudly you could hear it across the Junkyard. This was someone old, old and angry and deeply scarred, someone Alonzo wouldn’t call  _ mean _ but instead would call  _ survivor. _

“I know exactly what a tribe is for,” Pouncival hissed, and before Alonzo could say anything he turned and sprang over the rubbish pile. His back leg didn’t take his weight completely and a few rusted cans went tumbling down with a crash, but he never looked back. An eyeblink later, he was gone.

Left alone in the clearing, Alonzo stared into the sudden absence, completely and achingly lost.

#

A few days later, Munkustrap sat down next to him and threw him a look. “Spill.”

Alonzo blinked. “What?”

His friend nodded across the mainstage, where Bombalurina and Exotica flirted openly with a couple of toms, clearly feeling out the possibility of future yearmates. “You’ve hardly paid any attention to the queens these last few days,” Straps said. “And believe me, I know you’re no Rum Tum Tugger, but not even  _ trying _ to hook a mate with less than two months left before the Ball? Something’s distracting you.”

Ah. Alonzo gave his tail a nonchalant flick. “Maybe I already found a mate for the season.”

“Uh-huh. So I know it’s not Cassandra since she’s bedding down with Coricopat, and I know it’s not any of the other queens since none of them are hanging around you at the moment. Some new cat I somehow haven’t heard of then?”

Alonzo sighed and, to his credit, Munkustrap gave him a friendly nudge. “What’s on your mind, old friend?”

He debated it all of two seconds before making a decision. Munkustrap had never led him astray, after all, and Alonzo trusted him not to do so now. “What do you know about Pouncival?”

Straps blinked; it was clear, out of all the possibilities he’d considered to explain Alonzo’s behavior, this was the last one. “Pouncival? What do you mean?”

Alonzo glanced across the Junkyard, where the cat in question watched Tumblebrutus and Etcetera explore a can of rubbish they’d managed to tip over earlier. Pouncival seemed to sense his gaze because he blinked and looked over his shoulder. The instant their eyes locked, something flickered in his expression—not fear or anger, but more uncertainty, and he immediately turned and ambled away.

It was how he’d basically treated Alonzo since that last afternoon, and frankly, it was driving Alonzo a little mad. He couldn’t explain it. Before, he’d hardly noticed Pouncival, only knowing him as the young, agile tom who sometimes got cuffed over the head by the older cats whenever he did something particularly stupid. Playful and harmless and entirely off Alonzo’s radar. But now?

Munkustrap was right; he had been distracted. Alonzo found his gaze tracking Pouncival now whenever he saw him around the Junkyard, and now that he knew what to look for, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed the injury earlier. Sure, Pouncival did a great job of compensating; he still chased the other cats as lightning-quick as before, still leaped and twisted midair in play as agilely as he always had. But now Alonzo could also see it: the half-second correction when he shifted his body weight, the slight misstep whenever he put his back leg down in just  _ that way _ . And he wanted to know  _ why _ : why Pouncival had been trying so hard to keep the injury a secret, why he so clearly didn’t trust the rest of the tribe to look after it for him.

And, especially, why he’d gotten hurt in the first place. Because who would want to harm someone like Pouncival, whose heart was so big it practically bled? Who could look at him, the way he smiled and laughed and was so openly, wonderfully pure, and think…?

“…ellicle.”

Alonzo blinked. “Pardon?”

Next to him, Munkustrap sighed, but the look he sent him was only mock-exasperated. “I said, Pouncival’s a Jellicle. What else is there to it?”

“Well.” Alonzo looked down at his paws, suddenly at a loss. He couldn’t tell Munkustrap what he’d witnessed in the clearing. It felt too…personal, like somehow he would be betraying Pouncival’s trust, even though the other tom hadn’t even spoken to him since. “Just…I don’t know. He’s not related to any of the other Jellicles, right? As far as I recall, he just showed up in the Junkyard one day, a stray kitten.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Alonzo nodded. He remembered that day, waking up and already planning breakfast when he noticed the group of kittens playing in the corner had a new addition. There hadn’t been anything odd about Pouncival then, as far as he could remember, except that perhaps the new kitten had seemed a little skittish, a little more prone to startling whenever someone came up to him from behind. But Alonzo had written it off as him still familiarizing himself with the tribe, and had left it at that.

But what if it had been more than that?

He glanced sideways at Munkustrap. As the tribe’s protector, he vetted any new cat looking to become a Jellicle, making sure no harm would come to this giant family they’d built. That meant Straps knew something of Pouncival’s past; where he’d come from at least, if not what had actually happened to him. What sort of circumstances would bring a single lone kitten into a vast city, no friends or family or past, stumbling his way into a tribe of strangers that could just as easily have killed him as accepted him?

“What happened to him?” Alonzo asked.

Munkustrap didn’t answer for a long time. Down below their watch perch, the rest of the tribe went about their business, playing and grooming and catching naps. Alonzo looked around but saw no sign of Pouncival; wherever he’d disappeared to, he wasn’t coming back.

Then, at last, Straps sighed. “He’s a good kid, Alonzo,” he said, something weighted in his gaze. “Don’t hurt him.”

Then, before Alonzo could ask, he turned and barked, “Admetus! Teazer! Get off that  _ right now _ or you’re gonna—”

A sharp  _ crash! _ followed by two high-pitched yelps. Munkustrap huffed and hurried off to do damage control. Alonzo watched him go, swallowing down a ball of confusion. What did his friend mean? Why would he ever hurt Pouncival, when the younger tom had clearly suffered so much already? 

Well, it was clear he wasn’t going to find any answers here. It was time to seek out Pouncival and ask him. Maybe then, finally, that tight knot of unhappiness that had been sitting in Alonzo’s chest for the last few days would disappear.

#

As it turned out, the opportunity came sooner than expected. Whether by chance or Munkustrap’s machinations, the next day Alonzo reported for the evening patrol and found Pouncival sitting on the car instead of Mungojerrie, looking irritated but resigned.

For a long moment, they simply watched each other. Pouncival looked thinner, from what Alonzo could tell—not terribly, but enough to notice, like maybe he’d not been looking after himself as much as he should have. Alonzo’s chest tightened with guilt. 

“You, uh.” His voice came out a bit squeaky; he cleared his throat and tried again. “You don’t have to come with me. I can walk sentry alone.”

For an instant, it looked like Pouncival would agree. But then the younger tom just sighed, some of the anger melting from his expression as he lifted a paw to give his ears a quick wash. “It’s fine. Straps asked, so I’m here.”

So it had been Munkustrap. Alonzo wasn’t sure whether he’d smack his friend or hug him the next time they crossed paths. He nodded at one of the side exits off the mainstage. “All right, then. Follow me.”

Pouncival nodded and tailed him into the shadows. As they made their way deeper into the Junkyard, senses alert for the presence of strange cats or other threats, Alonzo made sure to keep a respectable distance between them. Even so, he couldn’t seem to stop casting sideways glances at Pouncival, and after a few minutes of walking in silence, the younger tom finally threw him an annoyed look. “Please stop that.”

“Sorry.” Quickly Alonzo cast about for something else to say. “You’re not limping.”

He cringed. Way to be tactful. But Pouncival didn’t lash out. Instead, he just sighed, taking a moment to peer into a shadowed corner before answering. “It doesn’t…my leg’s not bad all the time. The, uh, accident happened a long time ago, so it’s mostly healed. It just acts up sometimes, like when it’s cold.”

Alonzo nodded. “You never got it looked at? By humans, I mean. They’re real miracle workers, from what Mistoffelees says.”

Something haunted entered Pouncival’s gaze before he turned away. “I don’t like humans.”

And that was that. Alonzo knew better than to push it. “Hey.”

When one bright eye turned back to regard him, he tried a smile. “So does that mean you never had a House Name? Pouncival is your Bond Name?”

He was genuinely curious. The naming of cats was a difficult matter, as everyone knew. Every cat had at least two names: a Heart Name and a Bond Name. Heart Names were your secret, that one private, beautiful part of yourself you kept locked away from everyone else, to contemplate and refine in times of quiet solitude. Bond Names were a close second, those monikers that sprang from the language of cats, unique as fingerprints. They were called so because different cats used them usually to express two types of bonds: there were cats, such as Munkustrap and Bombalurina, who viewed their tribe as family and therefore shared their Bond Name openly with all the Jellicles. And then there were other cats, such as Demeter, Victor, and Alonzo himself, who guarded their Bond Names more closely, who chose only to share them with those they felt most close to. Alonzo had never given his Bond Name to anyone in the tribe, but he hoped one day to connect with another cat enough to share it, to give this deepest part of himself and know it would be guarded like the most precious of treasures.

Pouncival seemed to consider the question for a moment. Then, at last, he shrugged. “No. It’s a House Name.”

Ah. So Pouncival was like him: apt to keep his Bond Name close to his chest. Alonzo had suspected as much, although he was still a little surprised to discover that the younger cat had, at some point in his life, been around humans long enough for them to give him a third name. What had happened to make him so leery of them now?

“What about you?” Pouncival seemed to have forgiven him for the previous misstep, watching him with real curiosity. “Clearly you once had humans since you use your House Name. But you den around the Junkyard, and I never see you leaving every night like the housecats do.”

“Ah.” A frisson of unexpected pleasure went through Alonzo at the realization that Pouncival had apparently been watching him just as closely this past week. He shrugged. “No big story there, really. I was a housecat until a few years ago, but then my owners had a kitten and it kept coughing and crying whenever it was around me. I guess they didn’t like me making their kitten sick, so they turned me out of the house. I kind of wrote humans off after that.”

Pouncival snorted. “I can see why. Humans suck.”

“That they do.”

They grinned at each other. Alonzo found he quite liked Pouncival like this, lighter and more carefree, closer to being the young prankster the rest of the Jellicles knew. Maybe he didn’t need all the answers, at least not now. Maybe having Pouncival trust him enough to admit the nature of his name, to speak obliquely about his injured leg and an odd history with humans...maybe Alonzo didn’t need any more than that. 

After another moment, Pouncival blinked and looked away. Alonzo couldn’t be sure, but he thought the younger tom’s cheeks looked a little pink. “So, um. I guess we should finish our rounds.”

“Yeah.” Alonzo smiled and executed a mock-bow. “After you, then.”

Pouncival dutifully rolled his eyes, but it said something, Alonzo thought, that when he turned and leaped up to take the high watch, he didn’t limp at all.


	2. Chapter 2

The next couple of weeks were…easier. Pouncival didn’t quite seem to know how to react when Alonzo emerged from his den the day after their patrol and promptly plopped down next to him in the sunlight to begin his morning bath. He didn’t leave though, and when he pointed out that Alonzo had missed a spot and the older cat retorted that he should respect his elders and get to work then, things between them began to seem okay.

They spent a lot of time together after that, whether by chance or design. Alonzo found, to his surprise, that he quite enjoyed Pouncival’s company; he’d expected to grow quickly tired of the younger tom’s ridiculous antics, but Pouncival only seemed to fall into that trap when Tumblebrutus was around to goad him. Without the influence of his silly friends, Pouncival was actually surprisingly levelheaded and almost heartbreakingly honest, and, as it turned out, more than capable of teaching Alonzo a thing or two about acrobatics.

Pouncival, also, seemed to enjoy the tentative connection they were building. They never talked more about his leg, but he started telling Alonzo stories about his kittenhood in the country, about grass that grew so tall it was like walking through a forest, and trees that stretched grandly into the sky. He spoke of sunning beneath clear blue sky and stalking silvery fish in rushing streams, getting into a scuffle with a surly pair of kingfishers and chasing mice through endless fields with joyful abandon. Notably, none of his stories included any mention of family or humans, but Alonzo let it go. It was enough, hearing the quiet pleasure in Pouncival’s voice as he shared a part of himself Alonzo suspected had been locked away for a long time.

Munkustrap continued pairing them up on patrols, but he needn’t have bothered; they ended up spending most of their time together anyway. Alonzo didn’t let himself think too much about it, just another friendship he was cultivating within the tribe, until Demeter nudged him none-too-gently one afternoon to get him to shift over, sat down on the sun-warmed car, and arched a delicate eyebrow. “So. Mates for the Ball, then?”

Alonzo blinked. “You’re lifemated to Munkustrap.”

He probably deserved Demeter’s sharp cuff to his ear. It wasn’t exactly a secret, after all; she and Straps had finally stopped being in denial a few Balls back and done their true mating dance, moving from being occasional yearmates—who came together purely for litters, and moved on to other partners afterward—to actual lifemates, who stayed together for good. 

Alonzo had never seen either Straps or Demeter so happy as they’d been since. It made something warm and content unfurl in his chest, and he hoped he’d be able to find his own lifemate someday, instead of bedding down with a different queen each Ball, no matter how pleased they seemed to be with the prospect.

“Idiot,” Demeter said. “I meant you. Who will you be courting at the Ball this year? Or did Cassandra somehow lose her mind and decide not to go with Coricopat after all?”

They both knew the answer to that, of course; Cassandra and Coricopat had been practically living in each other’s pockets the last few months, to the point where it was getting a bit tiresome. Alonzo shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Mm-hm.” Demeter stretched her long, lithe body, reminding Alonzo that they’d been yearmates once in the past, and how fun that had been. Maybe she was right. There were still a few weeks until the Jellicle Ball, but it wasn’t  _ that _ much time. “So I guess it doesn’t mean anything at all that you’ve been hanging around young Pouncival so much lately.”

Full stop.

To Demeter’s credit, she only let him flail for a few seconds before nodding across the mainstage, where Pouncival was catching a quick nap as the kittens played with his tail. “What? You thought we wouldn’t notice?”

We? So Munkustrap, too? “That’s not—we’re friends, I—”

“You brought him a mouse yesterday.”

“He’s thin! And—”

“And also pretty much the best hunter the tribe’s ever seen. You’re not fooling anyone, Alonzo.” Demeter’s eyes narrowed, something briefly sorrowful flickering in her expression. “Unless it’s yourself.”

Alonzo gaped. She wasn’t—it wasn’t—he didn’t feel that way about Pouncival. He saw another cat in need and wanted to help, that was all. It didn’t mean anything.

Besides, what right did Demeter, or any other cat for that matter, have to dictate his own feelings? He knew exactly where he stood with Pouncival. And sure, he liked the younger tom, and when he cracked a joke and Pouncival laughed,  _ really _ laughed, it made Alonzo’s insides twist all up into knots. But they were just friends. Pouncival himself probably already had a yearmate picked out for the Ball; he was definitely old enough. And why did the thought of that hurt so damned much?

He shook his head and got to his feet. “I think you’re mistaken,” he said stiffly. “Good day.”

“He’s loved you forever.”

He stopped mid-stride and spun around. Demeter just continued inspecting her claws. “You know that, right? All the other youngsters respect and sort of worship you, the same way they do Straps. But he’s the only one who looks at you with wanting.”

Alonzo swallowed and glanced once more at Pouncival, still fast asleep. “Dem—”

“Of course you wouldn’t have noticed, always flirting and chasing the queens,” Demeter continued, and there was something sharp now in her voice, something that made Alonzo feel all of a sudden small and insignificant. “You wouldn’t have noticed that he came to the Ball last year and immediately tried to get close to you, but then you went sauntering over to Cassandra and so he spent the rest of the Ball trying to distract himself with his friends in the corner. We all have eyes, Alonzo, but yours don’t always seem to work.”

Alonzo couldn’t even think of an answer to that. What was he supposed to say? True, he’d spent most of the Jellicle Ball last year with Cassandra as they’d previously agreed, but the Ball itself had been pretty typical, apart from the Macavity scare. But…maybe that was the problem. Bringing Cassandra back to his den afterward and taking time to explore her long, supple curves had been fun and exciting, but it had also been…standard. About the same as all the other queens he’d mated with in the past. Cassandra didn’t make him laugh, didn’t teach him how to use his tail to distract a cautious mouse, didn’t have him waking up every morning eager and wondering when he’d see her next. Cassandra’s eyes didn’t remind him of bright glowing stars, her smile didn’t warm up all the pieces of himself, everything inside him suddenly happy and content and glowing with the feeling of  _ right _ .

When Alonzo thought about his life now, fathering litters and protecting the tribe and journeying on into some bright, promising future, it wasn’t Cassandra he imagined beside him, or any of the Jellicle queens, for that matter.

Oh, no.

Still perched atop the car, Demeter grinned, pure self-satisfaction. “I thought so,” she said. “If it was just one-sided on Pouncival’s part, I wouldn’t have pushed it, but Straps was right to give the two of you some time together.” She yawned, showing teeth. “So what’re you gonna do about it?”

Alonzo swallowed. He had no idea. Should he even do anything? Pouncival already had so much to deal with, from his leg to his past to the upcoming Ball. Did he really need Alonzo coming up and dropping this giant weight in on top of everything else?

But…But if Demeter was right…he shook his head, trying to remember. He’d seen Pouncival at the last Ball, but…it was too fuzzy, too long ago. And back then, he hadn’t known to pay attention. He hadn’t known what was waiting for him just out of the corner of his eye, if only he’d been enlightened enough to turn around and look.

But now he was looking. Now he  _ knew _ . And, somewhere in the very bottom of his heart where his Bond Name dwelled, the first drops of something began to unfurl. Something warm and tender and precious. Something like hope.

He straightened and peered back across the mainstage, but Pouncival was gone, leaving only the kittens stalking and tackling each other in his wake. So he turned to look at Demeter. “I have to go.”

The smile she sent him was genuine and warm, rendering her so beautiful for an instant he almost couldn’t stand it. “Good luck.”

He supposed he’d need it.

#

The kittens didn’t know anything about where their minder had gone, other than that their antics seemed to have annoyed Pouncival enough that he handed them over to Victoria and decided to nap elsewhere. The other cats, Alonzo soon discovered, weren’t much help either: Pouncival’s den, as it turned out, was something of a minor mystery throughout the tribe, no one ever really witnessing where he retired to each night or emerged from every morning.

In the end, it was Mistoffelees who helped the most. The all-black cat stretched lazily as Tugger groomed him, and nodded in the vague direction of a side tunnel that led into the Junkyard’s western ranges. “I followed him once, out of curiosity,” he said. “He dens further from the mainstage than any of the other strays, damned if I know why. Got bored and turned back once we’d passed the paisley sofa, but try around there. Your nose should do the rest.”

Alonzo thanked him, ignoring Tugger’s lecherous grin. “It’s probably a good thing he dens so far out, means you can really let loose and make him scr— _ ow! _ Misto!”

“Get going, Alonzo, there’s only room for one idiot here.”

Shaking his head, Alonzo obeyed.

Mistoffelees, as it turned out, was on to something. Ambling west through the rubbish, Alonzo eventually began seeing signs that another cat had passed through: a paint can tipped over here, scratch marks on a chair there. By the time he came upon the sofa—a giant, dilapidated eyesore, no surprise there—he was also catching whiffs of Pouncival’s scent, spotty and faint. The younger cat may not have been in the direct vicinity, but he had definitely been around.

It took another fifteen minutes or so of meandering here and there, chasing the pockets where Pouncival’s scent was the strongest, before Alonzo came to the very edge of the Junkyard, where a bunch of old, warped furniture stacked up into a leaning tower against the solid brick wall that kept out the rest of the city. He was now so far from the mainstage he couldn’t even see it. Did Pouncival actually den outside the Junkyard itself? Didn’t he know how dangerous that was, alone and unprotected beyond the Jellicles’ territory?

He couldn’t smell the younger tom here, at any rate, the air filled instead with a strong, almost herbal scent like the flowers humans sometimes liked to grow in pots on their windows. It was so thick as to be almost suffocating, and Alonzo sneezed, shaking his head. Should he go over the wall, then? Was it worth the risk? Well, if Pouncival did it every day and obviously wasn’t any the worse for wear—

And then he saw it: the pawprint, so slight as to be nothing more than a bare depression in the mud. And there, a little ways on, another. And another. All leading up to an old wooden bureau near the bottom of the wall.

It was one of those antique styles that humans didn’t really like anymore, with the top drawer missing and the metal handles swinging from their screws. It was also placed in such a way that there was some clearance underneath, just enough, Alonzo imagined, for a small cat to make a comfortable den. And the pawprints led right up to it.

Lowering his head, he crept carefully forward.

Daytime and nighttime made no difference to cats; the shadows beneath the bureau didn’t conceal from his sight. And there was Pouncival, curled up under the wood in a nest of blankets with his back against the brick wall, sound asleep.

Alonzo paused. With Demeter’s new insight, it was like all of a sudden he was seeing Pouncival for the first time: the endearing black-brown patches in his white fur, his face softened and smoothed out in sleep. Here, with no reason to pretend or deflect, he was nothing but himself, pure and soft and  _ beautiful _ , and if Alonzo had any doubts before, he didn’t now.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He was supposed to go to a few more Balls, test out a few more yearmates before finally picking the queen whom he would give his heart and his Name to forever. He was supposed to honor and love her, raise their kittens together, and maybe years from now sit with her, Munkustrap, and Demeter atop the old tire on the mainstage, watching the tribe they’d brought up together and griping goodnaturedly about how kids these days had it so easy. There was a whole narrative there, a story that had played out through generations of Jellicles, something expected and safe.

But not every story was fit for a song.

He hadn’t expected to find his lifemate so soon, and certainly not in someone like Pouncival. But was it really so bad? Jellicles cared nothing about two toms entering into a mateship; Tugger and Mistoffelees were more than proof of that. And Pouncival had proven to him over the last few weeks that he wasn’t just an airheaded adolescent with lots of growing to do. Pouncival was kind, and smart, and had been hurting for so long. And Alonzo found that his happiness now wasn’t in claiming the most beautiful queen at the Ball, or always having a full stomach or a comfortable place in the sun to groom.

His heart would always be full, so long as Pouncival continued to smile at him.

It was time.

He thought nothing of the fact that they were so far away from the rest of the tribe, or that Pouncival had felt the need to disguise his scent in the area. Alonzo wanted only to wake the younger cat—to wake his mate—so they could talk, and connect, and perhaps share more than just their Names.

He stuck his head carefully under the bureau, breathing in the warm, familiar comfort of Pouncival’s scent, and reached out a paw to touch him.

And the world exploded.

Bright pain burst across his vision as something solid smacked him hard enough to send him spinning out into the dirt. Alonzo groaned, shaking his head as his surroundings whirled, everything suddenly fuzzy and far away. Even so, instinct kicked in and he scrabbled for awareness. What happened? Had he been attacked? Where was Pouncival?

“A-Alonzo?”

The sun overhead was suddenly painfully bright. Alonzo squinted against it as he forced himself to standing. He still felt a little dizzy, the ground not completely steady beneath his paws, but his vision was clearing now so that he could make out the wall of the Junkyard, the bureau, and Pouncival standing a few feet away, watching him with wide eyes.

He looked, well, terrified. His pupils were huge, black almost completely washing out gold, and his entire body trembled, taut as a bowstring waiting to snap. His breaths came in short, sharp hitches, and Alonzo didn’t have to see the blood on his paw to know what had happened.

Pouncival’s gaze flicked up to Alonzo’s ear and something in his expression abruptly crumpled. “You’re bleeding,” he said. “I—I’ll go get Jenny, I—”

Alonzo reached out and seized him by the wrist. Pouncival stiffened, but didn’t pull away as Alonzo held his gaze despite the dizziness. “I’m fine. You hear me, Pounce? It’s fine.”

“But you could have a—a son-cushion or whatever it’s called, you—”

“ _ Pouncival. _ ” He was on the verge of true panic, Alonzo could see it in the wide eyes and hitched breaths, so he did the only thing that made sense: he hauled Pouncival in and pinned the younger tom beneath him, draping all his weight down on his shivering friend. “It’s fine, Pouncival. Breathe. Yes, just like that.”

Pouncival closed his eyes and shuddered, emitting a tiny, high sound that sent little shivers of cold through Alonzo’s own heart. He wrapped himself around the younger cat, drawing him in close as Pouncival shook. “Easy. We’re okay. You’re okay.”

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it seemed to work. Pouncival’s breaths slowed just slightly and he relaxed into Alonzo a little, enough for Alonzo to feel the rapid patter of his heart. “I-I’m sorry.”

Alonzo snorted. “For what? I’m the one who invaded your space. But you can bet I’m going to tell Munkustrap to put you in with the fighters instead of the sentries. That’s one hell of a right hook.”

That got him a soft laugh, brittle but genuine. When Pouncival lifted his head, his pupils had returned mostly to normal. “Let…Let me clean that for you, at least.”

Alonzo obliged, leaning back to make room. Pouncival climbed carefully over him, and a moment later he felt the soft rasp of the younger cat’s tongue along the bottom of his ear. It didn’t hurt beyond an initial sting—he’d taken far worse from Macavity last year—and he let himself relax into it, into Pouncival’s warmth and the familiarity of his touch.

It seemed no time at all passed before Pouncival sat back. “You, ah. There’s still some blood on you.”

He was right; Alonzo could see spots of it in the white fur of his shoulder. Sighing, he sat back on his haunches and got to work washing it off. He was almost done when Pouncival’s soft voice drifted to him. “I was shot.”

He paused and looked up. Pouncival sat next to the bureau, looking down at his bloody paw. His expression was brittle, a thin shroud of misery stretched across a chasm of pain. “You wanted to know what happened to my leg. I was shot.”

“Pounce, you don’t have to—”

“No.” Pouncival’s gaze flicked up to him for a moment, brimming with so much hurt Alonzo felt tears sting his own eyes. “You deserve to know. This is my story. Will you hear me?”

Alonzo swallowed. “Yes,” he said. “Always.”

So Pouncival began.

#

_ It’s a warm summer.  _ Unseasonably so, _ Mother likes to say, but they can tell she’s joking from the way she smiles and encourages them out of the den to play in the sunshine. He loves it here, this little grassy enclave they live in close to the river. There’s a house in the distance where the humans live, including the little girl human who used to come by and feed them cream. He likes the House Name she gave him. Pouncival. _

_ They haven’t seen the girl human in a while. Mother says the place where they live is called a farm, and the girl has gone off to a place called school. It doesn’t sound very fun, but she must like it if she spends so much time there. _

_ There are other humans, but they don’t come by much. Mostly he knows they’re there from the hums and growls of their big machines, working all hours of the day like giant, tireless beasts. He and Sassebo snuck close to the farmhouse one night to get a better look at the humans, and discovered in addition to the girl, there was a man, a woman, and a smaller male, not quite a boy but not quite a man. He hadn’t much liked the young male. He’d had a mean look about him. _

_ Mother mostly lets them do what they want. They weaned a couple weeks ago, though she still suckles Wayrainer, the runt. But he, Sassebo, and Winston spend most of their time outside the den, stalking and pouncing and playing tricks. He thinks he’ll make a great hunter someday. Mother smiles and says she thinks so too. _

_ It’s a lazy, quiet morning when he wakes to a stranger’s scent. Sassebo is already up, her paw almost in his face, and Winston has Wayrainer tucked behind him at the back of the den, eyes wide. He follows his brother’s gaze to the den’s entrance, where bright sunlight spills in to illuminate the face of another cat: a tom, adult.  _

_ Before he can cry out, the tom moves, and Mother takes his place. She grins and tells them to come out and meet their new friend.  _ This is Benermion, _ she says, as the strange tom sits back and starts washing.  _ He lives close and will be helping to watch over you. Together, children, we’re now a tribe.

_ Tribe. He likes the sound of that. _

_ Benermion smiles at them. It’s soft and kind. He notices one of the tom’s ears is torn and ragged, like maybe he got into a fight a long time ago. Maybe that means Benermion will protect them from the scary things. Like the boy-man with the mean eyes. _

_ The weeks pass. Wayrainer finally weans and grows big enough to join their games. Sassebo manages to catch a sparrow one day, and struts around with it in her mouth for an entire afternoon. He and Winston go fishing in the river with increasing success. Mother watches them quietly, Benermion standing guard over her shoulder, and life is good. He thinks he could do this forever. _

_ It’s a bright, beautiful day when Benermion says he has something to show them. He seems excited, his eyes gleaming and his steps light as they follow him deep into the woods. Mother tells them to stay close because they’re getting far from the den, but she doesn’t seem scared. Benermion is part of their family, their tribe. Benermion will protect them. _

_ Wayrainer gets tired, so he lets his brother ride on his back, even though Wayrainer’s actually kind of heavy. He’s glad when Benermion finally slows up ahead. He could use a break. _

_ The clearing in the forest is beautiful indeed. Sunlight shines down through a break in the trees, casting everything in bright, cheerful colors, and bees and butterflies flit about the flowers. Sassebo laughs and immediately sets to chasing, and Mother turns to Benermion and smiles. “It’s perfect,” she says. “Thank you.” _

_ Benermion grins back, but something is off about it. He doesn’t know what it is, but there’s something crooked about his smile, like it’s been cut off another cat and sewn onto his face. “No,” he answers. “Thank  _ you. _ ” _

_ And as the first alarms go off inside his head— _ bang.

_ It’s a sharp sound, like a thunderclap in his ear. He jumps, and Wayrainer slides off his back onto the grass. _

_ And doesn’t move. _

_ He stares at his little brother. Wayrainer’s eyes are open, staring up at the sky, but there’s something wrong with his coat; it shouldn’t be that color. It’s too red. Why is there so much red? _

_ Sassebo screams. Mother’s eyes go very wide. And Benermion’s smile grows, long fangs like pale bones under the sunlight. _

_ He’s still gaping at Wayrainer, unable to comprehend. Dead? Is he dead? And then a rustling in the trees, followed by the heavy  _ clomp, clomp _ of boots. _

_ It’s the boy-man. He’s dressed differently, some shifting pattern in his clothes that makes it hard to discern him from the rest of the forest, and he holds a long black stick in his hand, which gleams like death under the sun. Why is he here? What is that thing? And Wayrainer—why isn’t Wayrainer moving? _

_ The boy-man turns to look at Benermion, and there is something shared in their smiles then, something monstrous and terrible and not of this earth. The boy-man holds up the stick and does something that makes it click, sharp in the sudden, terrifying silence. His eyes aren’t mean anymore. They aren’t anything, just two black coals in the middle of his face. _

_ “Good job, Rampage,” he says, and who is this—this  _ thing _ that wears a human body, that stinks of death and evil? “Knew them fuckin’ ferals was somewhere out here. Always good for target practice.” _

_ And as he cocks the rifle—the  _ rifle— _ at Winston, Benermion, who was supposed to keep them safe, who was supposed to be family and protector and  _ tribe _ , turns to look straight at him with a smile like bubbling tar. “Run, little kit,” he whispers. “Show us just how agile you are.” _

Bang!

_ Winston jerks and crumples, disappearing into the long grass. And he doesn’t need to be told twice. _

_ As Mother shrieks and Sassebo wails, he turns and bolts for the trees. Run, run,  _ run! _ Behind him, someone laughs—he doesn’t know if it’s Benermion or the human, but it rolls after him, chases him through the woods, slimy and monstrous. He can’t see, everything a confused mess of branches and twisting leaves but he has to get away, he has to— _

Bang! Bang!

_ There’s blood in the air, he can smell it. Where’s Mother? And Sassebo? Are they running too? Or maybe they’re dead now, murdered like his brothers by the demon with the flaming gun. He wants them here. He wants to be back in the den, to be snuggled up against Winston with Wayrainer pressed to his chest, he wants to hear Sassebo’s giggle, he wants Mother to come and smile and tell them everything will be all right— _

Bang!

_ Something explodes in his leg. It’s terrible, fire and ice and everything awful in the world and he shrieks, trips, tumbles through the grass. There’s dirt and leaves everywhere, in his fur, in his eyes and mouth, he’s choking on it and he sobs, forcing himself up because he has to run, if he slows down then he’s dead, the human-monster and the cat-monster will find him and swallow him whole with their gaping dead mouths— _

Bang! Bang! _ Dirt bursts upward around him and he doesn’t think, can’t think. He just leaps, barrels through a final copse of bushes and— _

_ Nothing. Air. And then he’s falling, screaming and crying as he tumbles down the cliff, dust and sharp rocks everywhere and this is it, this is how he dies, with his leg shot off and his whole family dead and the monsters lumbering through the trees, looking to eat, to devour, to take everything away— _

_ And then he hits something cold, wet, and it swallows him up and pulls him down and he’s flailing and choking and sinking down, down, down into an endless dark, until there’s nothing left, nothing but pain and terror and, at last, an all-encompassing oblivion. _


	3. Chapter 3

Alonzo stared, unable to breathe.

Pouncival still looked down at his paw, shoulders hunched, everything about him small and heartbreakingly young. “It was the river,” he said, voice trembling so badly he could barely get the words out. “I fell into the river. When I woke up, I was probably a couple miles downstream. It was already dark. And everyone was just...gone.”

He swallowed, entire body shaking. “I-I couldn’t move. For three days I just lay there, waiting to die. Or for the human and Benermion to come finish me off. But they never came, and my leg...somehow, it got better. The bullet went through it and didn’t stick, and after a while I was able to drag myself up and away from the forest.

“I spent the next six months on the streets, just...surviving. I didn’t think my leg would ever recover, but it did, mostly, to where I could walk and even run on it on good days. I stayed away from other cats, just...didn’t trust them, but then one night I was starving and chasing a rat and didn’t notice I’d entered the Junkyard until Munkustrap tackled me, but then he was so  _ nice _ and he didn’t smile like Benermion and I just, I didn’t want to be alone anymore. So I came here and I’m a Jellicle now, and I want to be part of this tribe, I do, but sometimes it’s just so hard because you all smile and make promises and it makes me so goddamned  _ scared— _ ”

His voice cracked, and that was it. Alonzo moved before he was fully aware of it, darting forward to gather Pouncival in his arms, feeling hot tears spill down his own cheeks as Pouncival clung to him and cried. Gods, to go through something like that—he couldn’t even imagine it. How could anyone, human or feline, be so cruel, so utterly heartless? And then to see that, to experience it in all its horror, and yet still be willing to trust, to have a heart soft and forgiving enough to try to laugh and play pranks and even, perhaps, to love...?

He tightened his hold, nuzzling Pouncival’s soft fur as the younger cat trembled. He would never let go. Now that he knew the great gift the Everlasting Cat had somehow seen fit to give him, now that he knew just how precious that was and how easily he could have squandered it...this was it. This would be their story. From now on, Pouncival would never again experience pain or fear or grief, because Alonzo would spend the rest of his life fighting and bleeding and giving all of himself to protect him.

He didn’t know how long they remained there, wrapped up in mutual sorrow. Alonzo only knew that after a while Pouncival’s sobs finally subsided, but he remained pressed close, curled into his chest like a newborn kitten. Alonzo himself didn’t think he’d ever let Pouncival out of his sight again after this, knowing now the terrors he’d been through.

It explained everything: the leg, the secrecy, the distrust of both humans and tribe. Even where Pouncival chose to den reflected the heartbreaking story of a young cat who didn’t know any better, who was only trying to protect himself as best he could by sleeping far from others and using foreign scents to cover his tracks, because he’d never had a tribe that didn’t betray him.

Well, Alonzo would change that.

“Pouncival.” 

He disengaged them gently. Pouncival seemed to remember all of a sudden where they were because he drew back, swiping at his tears. “S-Sorry, I—”

“No.” Alonzo reached out, grasped Pouncival’s paw with his own. He kept his gaze on the other tom as he lifted the paw and slowly began to clean, deliberate strokes with his tongue that tasted first of blood and then, eventually, of something purer. When he was done, Pouncival looked ready to cry all over again, and Alonzo couldn’t believe he’d been so blind as to miss the way Pouncival stared at him, the shy desire in his eyes as he seemed to force himself to stay physically still, to keep from leaning in closer. As if he didn’t think he’d earned the right. As if he was afraid Alonzo might not want him to.

He kept his grip on Pouncival’s paw. “I can’t change what you’ve been through,” he said, around the sudden constriction in his throat. “I can’t kill Benermion, I can’t scratch out that human bastard’s eyes, and I can’t do anything to fix your leg. But what I can do is promise you it doesn’t matter. 

“You’re you  _ because _ of your past, Pounce. You’re the cat you are today because of what you went through, what you  _ survived _ , and by the Layer, I—”

Which was when something exploded.

They both jumped. Pouncival snatched his paw back and pressed himself up against the bureau, while Alonzo spun, staring in horror at the thin column of smoke winding up into the sky in the distance.

His blood ran cold as he realized. It was coming from the mainstage.

He didn’t even think. He was, at his core, a Jellicle above all, a fighter and protector of his tribe. Alonzo spun and bolted back through the Junkyard, feeling more than hearing Pouncival hot on his heels. What happened? Was everyone okay?

They made it back to the mainstage in record time, and Alonzo pulled up so quickly he nearly tripped. The scene was utter chaos: rubbish spilled everywhere, smoke clogging the air, and everywhere cats, fighting and clawing and hissing and scratching. Alonzo recognized his fellow Jellicles easily, and it took no time to notice the other cats, how scraggly and unkempt they were, greed and madness gleaming in their eyes. They were being invaded. The Jellicles were at war.

He didn’t hesitate. A few feet away, Munkustrap engaged two strange cats and Alonzo set upon them immediately, swiping at the closest one with his claws before turning to deliver a solid kick that sent his opponent flying into a trash pile with a shriek. The other one hissed and retreated, and Munkustrap turned and nudged him in thanks. Already his friend’s grey-striped fur was streaked with dust and flecks of blood, but he looked unhurt and his eyes were clear. “About damned time!”

“Sorry!” Alonzo twisted on instinct and batted away another attacker. “What happened?”

“Bastards just showed up and decided they wanted the Junkyard is what happened,” Straps hissed. “No sign of Macavity, but Demeter and Rina’re tracking to make sure— _ look out! _ ”

Alonzo stiffened and spun, and had just enough time to see the cat from before springing at him, claws unsheathed, before another shape barreled into her midair. Pouncival recovered quickly, springing to his feet to deliver a sharp bite that sent the strange queen running with a wail. He nodded at Alonzo but didn’t say anything before turning to join Plato and Mungojerrie fighting off another group.

He could take care of himself. He’d been doing it for so long.

“Alonzo!” Munkustrap’s sharp bark brought him back. His friend jerked his chin in the direction of the old tire, where Skimbleshanks and Tugger faced off against five or six of the invaders, Mistoffelees crouched above them, hissing as sparks danced through his fur. “Come on!”

He didn’t have to be told twice. Tailing Munkustrap, Alonzo took a deep breath and threw himself into the fight.

It wasn’t pretty; war never was. The invaders gave as good as they got, scratching and biting with reckless abandon. Rumpleteazer got set upon by two strange toms, shrieking as they tried to drag her away until Mungojerrie leaped in, all claws and teeth, planting himself firmly in front of his sister as Admetus and Exotica backed him up. Mistoffelees got tackled off the high ground, making Tugger roar, and Straps nearly got an ear bitten clean off by a raggedy queen with claws that curved unnaturally in the sunlight. Alonzo sent her flying with a kick strong enough he felt her ribs crack, then turned to help his friend up. “You’re getting slow, old man!”

“Oh, fuck you,” Straps growled back, but there was no real bite to it. The battle was finally starting to slow down around them as the invaders were pushed back, Jellicles doing what Jellicles did best. There were a still a couple of skirmishes wrapping up, but for the most part it looked as if they were going to keep the Junkyard.

Familiar white-brown-black flashed out of the corner of Alonzo’s eye, and he turned to see Pouncival bat away another tom, hissing. He didn’t look hurt, nothing beyond a splash of blood down his flank that didn’t seem to belong to him, but the fight must’ve pushed his limits some because he was limping again, a clear hitch in his hind leg as he turned toward where Plato was fighting one of the last stragglers atop the old car.

Everything after that happened very fast.

As Alonzo watched, a shadowy figure resolved itself a few feet above Plato: an invader queen, eyes gleaming with violence. He saw the instant Pouncival noticed her too, the way he stiffened for a half-second before falling into a crouch, and that was perfect, he had a good angle, when the queen jumped he could easily tackle her midair and then it would be over.

But that wasn’t what happened.

The queen snarled and leaped. Pouncival dutifully sprang out of his crouch, and his aim was true—but his leg was not. Alonzo watched in horror as Pouncival’s hind leg buckled and he tumbled to the ground in a heap. And as Plato turned at the noise, the strange queen slammed into him and they both went over the car with a terrible crash.

A high-pitched wail rang out: Victoria. The all-white cat streaked across the mainstage toward her mate as the invader queen sprang to her feet and tore away into the night, leaving Plato lying on the ground, unmoving.

Straps and Demeter were already there, crouched over the fallen tom. Alonzo couldn’t see clearly from this distance, but Victoria was crying, and the thick stench of blood filled the air. How bad was it? Was Plato dead? 

Then, abruptly, movement, and a rush of relief when Plato’s leg twitched and the young tom made a weak, confused noise as he blinked the blood out of his eyes. Victoria keened and curled around him, Jennyanydots fussing over them in a trembling voice as Demeter sat back, leaning into Straps. Alonzo let out a breath and looked around the rest of the Junkyard, where the other Jellicles were cleaning up the carnage. Next to the drainpipe, Misto tried to reassure Tugger that he was fine, really, nothing was broken, and Jerrie wrapped a shaking Teazer up in his arms, hissing at anyone who got close. Cassandra and Tantomile helped a dazed-looking Coricopat to his feet, and Tumblebrutus sat next to them, licking blood from his fur.

Slowly pushing himself up where he’d fallen, Pouncival stared at Plato, at the blood in his friend’s coat and the bruises on his face, something devastated in his eyes.

Alonzo couldn’t go to him. The invaders might’ve been run off for now, but they could still be lurking on the outskirts of the Junkyard, waiting for another opportunity to strike. Accordingly, he spent the next couple of hours working with Munkustrap to organize sentries and patrols, and reassuring the young kittens that they were safe in their den. Even so, he never lost track of Pouncival throughout, some part of him always attuned to the younger tom’s presence.

Pouncival himself helped with the clean-up somewhat, righting fallen furniture and refreshing the tribe’s scent-marks along the territory borders. No one seemed to blame him for what had happened to Plato, and indeed, several of the older cats approached him throughout, asking about the limp. Each time Pouncival claimed it was from the fight and it wasn’t bad, and the other cats let him go, too many other things on their minds. But that look of haunting sadness never left Pouncival’s face, and by the time afternoon came and they’d finally returned the Junkyard to some semblance of order, Alonzo was worried sick.

It didn’t help that, just as the sun winked out behind the looming buildings in the distance, Pouncival disappeared.

Alonzo sent Bombalurina and Jellylorum off on their next patrol and turned to look at Munkustrap. His friend seemed to sense what was on his mind because he just nodded; they could handle things without him from here. His obligations to the tribe fulfilled, he turned and sprang away from the mainstage and further into the Junkyard.

It wasn’t difficult to pick up Pouncival’s trail; the younger tom wasn’t actively trying to cover his scent, and Alonzo found with a sinking feeling that he had an idea as to why. It took only a few minutes for him to make out the familiar patterned white fur, winding its way through the Junkyard toward the border wall, and he didn’t stop to think, just took a running leap to land in front of Pouncival, blocking his advance. “You’re leaving.”

If Pouncival was surprised to see him, he didn’t show it. In fact, he didn’t show much of anything, just peered at Alonzo with an expression so flat and unreadable it was like looking at glass. “What’s it to you?”

Alonzo swallowed. “What happened to Plato wasn’t your fault.”

That got him a reaction, at least: Pouncival flinched. “Is he okay?”

“He’ll live,” Alonzo answered, realizing too late it was the wrong thing to say. A thick wall slammed down once more behind Pouncival’s eyes and the younger cat turned to push past him. “Wait.”

Pouncival didn’t look like he would, so Alonzo reached out to seize his paw. Pouncival paused, glancing briefly down where they were joined. “Let go, Alonzo.”

“No. Not until you talk to me.”

“I’m talking to you now,  _ let go. _ ”

“I’m not Benermion.”

Pouncival reared back so hard Alonzo nearly lost his grip. His eyes went very wide, and Alonzo took a deep breath and stepped forward, holding fast. “And neither are you,” he said. “I know you’re scared. You’re scared of our tribe betraying you, but you’re also scared of letting us down. You’re scared you’ll do something wrong or make a mistake, and something will happen like with Plato today. You’re afraid to love us, because that means we have the power to hurt you.”

“P-Please stop,” Pouncival whispered, but Alonzo couldn’t. He needed Pouncival to know, to understand what Alonzo had come to see about him, what made it so that he couldn’t let the younger cat leave. Because if Pouncival disappeared, then part of Alonzo would wither with him.

“One day, Plato is going to die,” he said, as Pouncival flinched away from him. “So is Straps, and Deuteronomy, and Misto and Tugger and all of them. And me. We’re all on a one-way trip to the Heaviside Layer, and perhaps it can be slowed but it can’t be stopped. You know this better than anyone.”

“Alonzo—”

“What matters, then, isn’t when we die but how we live,” Alonzo said. “Don’t you see, Pounce? That’s what tribe means. It means we spend all nine of our lives chasing moments of happiness with others instead of being scared and alone. It means we live so brightly that our families will dance and sing in our honor after we pass. It means we argue, and fight, and do really cruel, stupid things to each other sometimes, but we also forgive, and we never stop loving. That’s tribe, Pouncival. That’s what you’re a part of.”

He paused and swallowed. “That’s what you are to me.”

Pouncival stared at him. He looked  _ wrecked _ , flayed open and brittle under the pale moonlight, as if one more word from Alonzo might cause him to fly apart forever. But that wasn’t Alonzo’s intention, not before and not ever. He was always to be Pouncival’s anchor, his solid foundation, his partner in all things. That was what it meant to be tribe. That was what it meant to be mates.

He took a deep breath and lifted Pouncival’s paw, pressing a kiss to the soft white fur. “I can’t imagine anyone else by my side, this Ball or next, or all the years after. It’s you, Pouncival. It is and will always be you.”

And that was that.

In the ensuing quiet, faraway traffic echoed beyond the wall, and a couple of lone crickets tried their hand at serenading the night. Somewhere back near the mainstage, a short commotion started up, silenced by Munkustrap’s sharp voice. They were too far away to make out exactly what he said, but Alonzo didn’t care. He had more important things on his mind.

Pouncival’s paw twitched, then withdrew. Alonzo looked up, but Pouncival didn’t look scared anymore. Instead, he tilted his head, and while there was still hesitation there, and a certain reticence Alonzo hoped one day to eradicate completely, there was also something warm in his gaze, a tentative blossoming hope. “All this just to get me to stay?” he asked.

Alonzo shook his head. “You can go wherever you want,” he said. “I’ll just be coming with you.”

The corner of Pouncival’s mouth twitched upward. “Even if I decide to head to, say, East End?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Hm. What about outside the city? Wales? I don’t know how you feel about sheep—”

Alonzo rolled his eyes and kissed him.

It seemed Pouncival still wasn’t quite expecting that because the younger tom stiffened for a moment before quickly melting into him. Alonzo pulled him close and took his time, breathing in his scent as they tasted each other for the first time. Lord, it was better than he imagined, Pouncival’s body all lean muscle and hard angles instead of soft curves, and Alonzo couldn’t get enough. All the queens he’d bedded in the past couldn’t compare to this. This was a homecoming, a completion. This was the end of all his roads.

When at last they pulled apart they were both breathing heavily. Pouncival looked a little dazed, his eyes gleaming moonlight as he stared up at Alonzo. “Oh. Wow.”

On any other day, Alonzo might’ve taken a moment to preen at his obvious prowess. As it stood, however, he simply darted in for another kiss, soft and chaste, feeling Pouncival smile against his lips as he whispered, “Come home with me.”

“Okay,” Pouncival answered, easy. And as Alonzo turned and led the way back through the Junkyard toward his den, he couldn’t help but think it sounded like a promise.

#

He woke the next morning with pale pink sunlight just creeping in through the opening to his den, washing everything in soft, glowing light. Alonzo yawned and took a moment to stretch, then snuggled into soft, warm fur. “Morning.”

“Mmph,” Pouncival answered. “Five more minutes.”

Alonzo grinned. 

They’d finally fallen asleep a couple hours before dawn; it didn’t surprise him Pouncival was still tired. As a lover, he was inexperienced but eager, and there had been a couple times Alonzo thought he’d have to call an end to things first. Even if he had, of course, it wouldn’t have mattered. Pouncival wouldn’t judge him for it, not now that they were mates.

And didn’t that make his heart swell almost to bursting, that he could now look at Pouncival sleeping next to him, sharing his den, and call him not friend or fellow Jellicle, but lifemate. The fact that he’d not only found someone like this, but managed to claim and keep him…Alonzo wasn’t one to believe in miracles, but this one he would take.

Outside the den, the rest of the Junkyard awoke. A couple of kittens ran by outside with a tinkle of laughter, while someone else—sounded like Straps—told another cat to go about securing some breakfast. The mention of food finally seemed to get through to Pouncival, who stirred, lifted his head, and yawned. “Wonder if the sparrows’re out yet.”

“Let Straps take care of it.” Alonzo shifted and pulled Pouncival in, smiling as he dipped his head for a kiss. “I think we earned a lazy morning.”

Pouncival seemed to agree, from the way he pressed up into the kiss and arched against Alonzo. So that was what he wanted to wake up to, huh? Alonzo grinned and happily obliged.

Some time later, they finally exited the den. Alonzo bedded down relatively close to the mainstage, in the trunk of an old, broken motorcycle with no wheels and a warped frame. The height of it gave him a good vantage point and the lid kept out the cold, but sometimes he forgot how conspicuous it was in terms of placement.

That was, until he landed gracefully on the ground, already contemplating breakfast, and Rumpleteazer promptly said, in a voice that carried across the entire Junkyard, “Oy! You’re dennin’ with Pouncival?”

Silence.

All the cats in the vicinity instantly stopped what they were doing, turning to stare. Pouncival turned bright red but, to his credit, didn’t move from Alonzo’s side. As for Alonzo himself, a human might have dragged his palm across his face, but he settled instead for glaring at the young queen, who was sunning herself nearby next to Mungojerrie. “Discretion, Teazer. Ever heard of it?”

“S’that a country or somethin’?” Mungojerrie said, but he was grinning, and so was his sister. Next to them, Demeter rolled her eyes, but her demeanor was friendly as she sauntered up, and the smile she offered was nothing but kind.

“I’m glad,” she said, nuzzling Pouncival gently. “For both of you.”

Pouncival’s cheeks were still a little pink, but he returned her affections readily. The other cats came up to offer congratulations, among them Victoria and Plato, who was looking much better. Pouncival went immediately to his friend, both of them speaking in low voices, but the way he held himself was relaxed and open, no longer guilty. It warmed Alonzo to think he’d had a hand in that.

“I guess you took my advice.”

He turned to see Munkustrap smiling at him. His friend seemed to have relaxed a little since last night, no longer tense and on the alert for danger. Alonzo blinked and tried to recall. “What advice?”

“Not to hurt him.” Straps nodded at Pouncival, who sat up on his hind legs to rub his cheek against Plato’s. “The kid’s been through so much. He deserves this. He deserves you.”

Alonzo ducked his head, smiling. It wasn’t exactly how he imagined announcing their mateship to the tribe—he would’ve preferred tradition, a mating dance at the upcoming Ball, but it seemed he and Pouncival were destined to always challenge the normal way of doing things. And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

Demeter looked like she was about to say something else when a sudden voice rang out across the mainstage. “Munkustrap!”

They all looked up. The Rum Tum Tugger strode up, Mistoffelees by his side, and though his coat gleamed and his mane was spotless as usual, there was something authoritative in his gaze, something that made Alonzo straighten up as Straps tilted his head. “What is it?”

In response, Tugger moved aside. His larger body, as it turned out, had been hiding another cat behind him: a queen, thin to the point of starvation, with scraggly whiskers and patches of brown all down her grey coat. She was flanked by two Jellicles in addition to Mistoffelees, and her golden eyes darted about the mainstage, not scared, per se, but more assessing.

“We found her hiding,” Tugger said. “That other tribe must’ve left her behind.”

A straggler, then, and not treated particularly well by her tribe, if her appearance and her presence here were any indication. Alonzo frowned and moved to Munkustrap’s shoulder, ready to play his part as they inspected this new arrival, when the queen’s gaze swept across the mainstage and suddenly fixed.

“C-C-Carbie?”

The look that came over Pouncival in that moment was difficult to describe: some mix of uncertainty, confusion, and shock. His eyes got very big as he stared at the intruder, specifically the patches on her coat that, now that Alonzo was paying attention, looked vaguely familiar. “S…Sassebo,” he said.

Sassebo cried out and sprang across the mainstage to wrap around him. And as Pouncival held his sister, eyes wide and entire body trembling, Alonzo thought he had never looked so lost.


	4. Chapter 4

It was afternoon when Alonzo heard movement outside the den, and lifted his head just in time for Pouncival to peek in. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself.” He shifted to make room, and Pouncival slid onto the blankets next to him. Alonzo was instantly hit with the smell of strange cat, and had to put effort into not moving away. That wouldn’t be fair. Sassebo was Pouncival’s family; she was supposed to be tribe.

Pouncival, however, also seemed uncomfortable because he frowned and started to get up again. “I think I need a bath.”

“Here, let me.” Alonzo pulled him in, something inside him fiercely possessive as he worked Sassebo’s scent out of his mate’s fur. Ordinarily he had no issue with Pouncival smelling like other cats—they were part of a tribe, after all—but maybe it was because Sassebo was technically still a stranger, and therefore some instinctive part of himself still considered her a threat. Either way, he felt much more comfortable when the den smelled once more like just the two of them.

Pouncival did too, judging from how he curled up close, purring softly. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Alonzo licked his mate’s ear for good measure before settling back on the blankets with a sigh. “I thought you would want to spend more time with your sister.”

Pouncival shifted to face him, looking distinctly unhappy. “I thought I would too,” he said. “I haven’t seen Sassebo since…you know. All these years I thought she was dead. It turns out she thought the same thing about me.”

Alonzo nodded. “So she escaped, then? From Benermion and the human that day?”

“…That’s what she says.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No, I…” Pouncival sighed. “I don’t know. It makes sense, doesn’t it? And there’s no reason I shouldn’t believe her. She’s my sister, for Layer’s sake.”

“But…?”

“But I just don’t…trust her, I guess? That sounds terrible. I know I’m supposed to feel close to her, but it’s just been so long and she’s not a Jellicle and…wait, why are you smiling?”

Alonzo ducked his head to nuzzle at the soft fur at the base of Pouncival’s neck, but didn’t feel the need to answer. Pouncival would realize it on his own someday, the fact that, even though Sassebo shared his blood, he wasn’t treating her like family. Instead, his protective instinct seemed to have settled firmly on the tribe.

He had always been a Jellicle, but it seemed now he was finally beginning to believe it.

If Pouncival was annoyed by his reticence, he didn’t show it, instead curling around Alonzo with easy familiarity. “Anyway, she wanted to den with me—” Alonzo showed teeth at that, because  _ excuse me? _ “—but Straps wasn’t comfortable, so he’s got a couple folks keeping an eye on her for now. We’ll figure out what to do with her tomorrow.”

Alonzo nodded. “Do you want her to join the tribe?”

It was a fair question. Most of the cats in the Junkyard were related in some form, if not in direct family groups then at least through Old Deuteronomy. It would make sense for Pouncival to invite his sister in, especially given the fact she was likely tribeless at the moment. But part of Alonzo just didn’t like the prospect. Something about Sassebo hanging around his mate with her long claws and haunted eyes…it just didn’t sit well with him.

Even so, whatever decision Pouncival made, he would respect it. He was, after all, Pouncival’s mate, not his minder.

Pouncival looked thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “The correct answer’s yes, right? But I just don’t know.” He sighed. “Does that make me a terrible brother?”

“No. It means you trust your instincts.”

Pouncival nodded and tried a smile. “I’m glad she’s okay, though. I’m glad Benermion didn’t…take everything.”

Alonzo tightened his grip on his mate. “Me too.”

But he wasn’t talking about Sassebo.

#

It wasn’t just the Jellicle Moon that affected cats; some phases triggered more wildness than others. Alonzo, for instance, was never able to sleep as deeply as he liked to whenever the moon was full, which meant he woke almost instantly when, some time later, Pouncival shifted, rose, and quietly departed the den.

Left alone on the cooling blankets, Alonzo yawned and didn’t think much of it. The younger tom might’ve been hungry, or simply wanted to stretch his legs. But when ten minutes passed and Pouncival didn’t return, he finally stretched and got up.

Electra was on watch tonight, the young queen giving him a nod as he ambled past. It took no time to catch Pouncival’s scent and track it to a nearby part of the Junkyard, hidden away from the mainstage in a small alcove surrounded by broken radio parts. Alonzo paused here, blinking.

Sometime during the night, either Straps had decided Sassebo didn’t pose a threat, or she’d somehow slipped her sentries because she stood with her brother in the middle of the clearing, speaking in tones too low for Alonzo to make out. Pouncival himself sat back to listen, but the way his tail twitched implied he wasn’t particularly comfortable with what she was saying. Alonzo cleared his throat and stepped forward.

Sassebo hissed and sprang back, but Pouncival looked more relieved than anything else. “Oh, Alonzo,” he said, stepping up to bump his shoulder gently. “Sass, this is, uh, my mate.”

Sassebo blinked, looking between them for a moment. “Oh. Wow, Pounce, that’s…that’s great.” Alonzo didn’t quite know what to make of her tone. 

“Anyway, Sassebo was just saying she wants to show me where the other cats got into the Junkyard,” Pouncival said. “Sounds like a side entrance we don’t cover regularly with patrols. It makes sense to take a look.”

“Sure.” Alonzo thought back to Pouncival’s discomfort from earlier and took a guess. “I’ll come with you.”

His mate smiled, and he knew he’d gotten it right.

The journey out into the Junkyard was…not quite awkward, but close to it. Pouncival and Sassebo didn’t quite seem to know how to behave around each other, time and distance withering the bond they’d once shared. Pouncival did try, asking his sister about her tribe and why they had been looking to take over the Junkyard. Sassebo said she didn’t know very much about it, having only joined the tribe a few months ago, but they’d been driven from their previous territory a week or so back due to human construction, and as such, had been growing increasingly desperate for new living space.

“I guess that’s why we seized on this place the instant we found it,” Sassebo said, ducking under a fallen plank. “A territory this large would be perfect for us, really.”

“Except for the fact it’s already occupied,” Alonzo pointed out.

“Except for that.”

“And what about your leader?” Pouncival asked. “Which one was he?”

“Oh, he doesn’t come out much for these sorts of things,” Sassebo said. “He prefers to…command troops from the rear, so to speak.”

“Sounds like a tactician,” Pouncival offered.

“Or a coward,” Alonzo said. That earned him a sharp look from his mate that clearly said  _ Behave _ , but Sassebo just smiled.

“I think he’d say he’s very…complicated.” Then she stopped and sat back on her haunches, taking a moment to wash. “We’re here.”

Alonzo blinked and looked around. This part of the Junkyard looked vaguely familiar. They were somewhere in the southern outskirts closer to the industrial area; he could hear the grinding and pumping of machines in a nearby factory. It was also quite a ways from the mainstage; a quick sniff brought him only a bunch of foreign scents. Sassebo had been right; they didn’t patrol here often.

But neither did it look like there was an entrance here. They were up almost against the brick wall, in an area of the Junkyard that was devoted to rusted cars, nothing but giant metal frames piled one on top of the other and flattened, slimy tires that stank of rotting rubber. How had Sassebo and her tribe managed to get in? There was really only one way in or out, and that was the way they’d…come…

Oh, no.

“Hello, kit.”

Next to him, Pouncival went very still.

Atop a nearby pile of cars, a single lone figure resolved itself from the night. He was an older tom, probably twice Alonzo’s age, with prominent stripes and a long black tail. He looked, in fact, a little like Munkustrap, except for two distinct differences: his eyes gleamed dull yellow in the pale moonlight, like something already dead. And one of his ears was missing.

Icy cold dripped down Alonzo’s spine, because even though he’d never met this cat, he knew him. He knew him from the scars he’d left.

“ _ Benermion _ ,” Pouncival said, the name torn from him like a physical thing.

The killer called Benermion smiled and leaped gracefully down atop a lower car, metal groaning in protest. “My, how you’ve grown,” he purred, before glancing at Alonzo, eyes gleaming. “And mated now, I see. Congratulations. And who might you be?”

Alonzo bared his fangs. “You do not deserve any of my names.”

Benermion just laughed. “Suit yourself.” He took a moment to stretch, then beckoned. Sassebo obediently leaped up onto the car beside him, purring as she rubbed her cheek to his. “You’ve done well, sweet. I’m so proud of you.”

The look that came over her face at his praise could only be described as pure bliss, and it didn’t take a leap of logic for Alonzo to glean what had happened, how easily someone like Benermion might have stayed his human’s hand and taken this scared little kitten under his wing, grooming and manipulating her with gifts and soft, sweet nothings until he made up the foundation of her entire world. Benermion, it seemed, put even Macavity to shame.

And if Alonzo had his way, the bastard wouldn’t survive the night.

As Sassebo snuggled up to him, Benermion looked down at Pouncival. “I admit I was shocked when Sass here told me she’d seen you at the battle last night, fighting alongside these… _ Jellicles _ .” He spat the name of their tribe like something too spoiled to swallow. “I haven’t had anything this interesting happen since they took my human away in the car with the flashing lights. So of course I had to send her back, to bring you here to see for myself. Tell me, how’s your leg feeling?”

Pouncival took a step back, hiding the limb in question. He didn’t even seem to notice he’d done it, everything about him suddenly small and young and everything Alonzo never wanted him to be again. Quickly he stepped in front of his mate. “Stop talking to him.”

“Or what?” Benermion’s teeth flashed in the moonlight. “I can see you’re a fighter, Chessboard, but I doubt even you can stop all of us.”

More shapes melted from the darkness: cats from the strange tribe who’d been in the fight last night. Seven or eight easily, all glowing eyes and sharpened claws, but even as Pouncival shrank back Alonzo crouched down, unsheathing his own claws. “Try me.”

Benermion laughed, as did the other cats. He turned once more to look at Pouncival. “Well then, kit? Are you just going to stand there and let your handsome prince die on his sword for you?” His smile widened. “I suppose it’s just your destiny to lose everyone you love.”

Pouncival flinched as if struck. Alonzo growled, and he didn’t care that he was hopelessly outnumbered, that they would probably kill him without any fuss. If he was going to die, at least he would take Benermion down with him, this bastard who had hurt his mate.

Which was when a new voice said, “I beg to disagree.”

It was only the searing rage that kept Alonzo from crumpling in relief. From the tunnel they’d passed through before, Munkustrap emerged, footsteps sure and steady as he came to stand beside them. And above and behind him, a troop of other Jellicles: Bombalurina and Demeter, Cassandra and Coricopat, Skimble and Tugger and Mistoffelees and all of them. Their tribe, their family, solid as a wall at their backs.

Benermion straightened up, and though he continued to sneer, Alonzo clearly caught the slight widening of his eyes. It seemed the great mastermind wasn’t used to being surprised. “Ah. Ambushing the ambusher, is it?”

But Straps wasn’t playing his game. “You think we’re stupid enough to be tricked, but we’ve had a lot of practice at spotting manipulation,” he said, “so I’ll make it simple for you, stranger.” He nodded at Alonzo and Pouncival. “They’re tribe, you’re not. So get off our land before we fuck you up.”

Benermion’s troops hissed at that, arching their backs and fluffing up their fur, but there was a bit of hesitation there, a sudden realization that this wasn’t going to be the easy victory they’d expected. Sassebo leaned into Benermion and drew her lips back from her fangs. And Benermion himself? Lowered his head and snarled, real anger sparking in his yellow eyes. The master manipulator, it seemed, hadn’t made a contingency plan for this. And why would he have? In Benermion’s mind, tribe was a joke, a means to an end, something to be maneuvered and managed like pawns in a game. He didn’t understand what the Jellicles did, what Alonzo had been trying so desperately to teach Pouncival: that tribe was family, and family was for life.

You didn’t fuck with something like that and expect to get out unscathed.

Alonzo was going to enjoy this fight.

Looking back, it wasn’t any one thing that set them off. It seemed they stood there forever, two groups of cats facing off with growls and deep hisses, claws raking gouges in the earth. Beyond the wall, the factory churned on, machines whirring and billowing smoke into the air, their human tenders blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding just next door.

Then: chaos. Maybe a Jellicle moved, or maybe one of the other cats did, and all of a sudden everything exploded into motion. Alonzo leaped at Benermion, clearing the first car in one bound, but Sassebo got in the way, swiping at his ear so close he felt the air move where her claws displaced it. But then a black shape sailed past his vision—Mistoffelees—and tackled her away with an angry screech, and then it was just Benermion, staring with wide eyes as Alonzo approached, growling.

And, it seemed, his previous assessment of the older cat’s true reason for holding back from the fighting was correct. Releasing a high-pitched sound like a cornered animal, Benermion turned tail and ran.

Alonzo leaped into pursuit. Benermion was  _ fast _ , bounding and twisting from car to car with an unnatural grace, and any other day, he might have escaped. But tonight, Alonzo had a purpose. He had a score to settle, one that went deeper than his bones, the story of a young cat who’d had everything stolen from him, who even now struggled to trust and connect but tried so damned hard anyway. And Alonzo was going to erase this final patch of darkness from Pouncival’s life if it was the last thing he did.

It seemed he chased Benermion forever, over cars and across fallen tires, as somewhere far below the battle raged on in hisses and yowls. But then, a mistake: Benermion scrambled up the wall bordering the Junkyard and seemed just on the verge of scaling it when his foot slipped, and with a wail he went tumbling down. Alonzo landed between him and the wall, and that was that. 

He glared at the other cat, watching as Benermion darted his gaze all around, looking for another escape. But there were none, Alonzo knew. If he wanted to get away, Benermion was going to have to fight.

It seemed the other cat realized this as well, because he finally straightened up and turned to face Alonzo fully. To his credit, he only sounded a little out of breath as he said, “I’m impressed. Under different circumstances, I’d ask you to join my tribe.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

Benermion cocked his head. “What do you see in him? You’re a fighter, and obviously respected in your tribe. Why pair up with a weakling?”

“You’re not making me want to kill you any less.”

But Benermion didn’t even seem to hear him. “You know he ran away as soon as the shooting started,” he said. “Just abandoned his family, right there in the field. Is that really who you want watching your back? Is that really who you want to be saddled to for the rest of your life?”

Alonzo unsheathed his claws, taking comfort in the familiar curve of them along the edge of his paws. If he had any doubts about the evil in this cat before, he didn’t now. If that was how he saw Pouncival, if he thought he could twist the young tom’s bravery and resilience into something like this…

“You hurt my mate,” he hissed. “So I’m going to rip you apart.”

But Benermion just smiled. “Maybe another time, Chessboard.”

A sudden weight slammed into Alonzo from the side. The world flipped and he went sprawling, everything confused and disoriented for a half-second before pain exploded in his shoulder, sudden and hot. He snarled and struck out on instinct, connecting with something solid that sprang back with a pained cry, and for one completely devastating instant he glimpsed brown-black patches and thought,  _ Pouncival? _

But then just as quickly he saw the coat: grey, not white. Sassebo arched her back and hissed. Alonzo had gotten her in the flank, blood starting to darken her fur, but she hardly seemed to feel it, eyes gleaming with almost maniacal devotion as she turned and cried, “I’ve got him, Ben, run!”

But Benermion, the coward, was already ahead of her. The older cat scrambled up the brick wall, claws scratching lines in the deep, slimy red, and Alonzo couldn’t get to him fast enough, not with Sassebo standing between them. Benermion was going to escape. He was going to vanish into the night and continue to haunt Pouncival’s darkest dreams, that one demon Alonzo couldn’t exorcise because he was too slow, too inept, a failure as a mate—

And then, just when Benermion reached the top of the wall and seemed about to go over, a shape came barreling out of the darkness, a blur of white, brown, and black. Pouncival slammed bodily into Benermion, and the older cat went tumbling back off the wall with a shriek. Sassebo cried out and ran to help him, but promptly found herself pinned beneath Tugger’s giant, growling weight. Munkustrap’s brother shot Alonzo a meaningful look, and Alonzo nodded. It was time to end things.

He turned and streaked across the clearing toward where Pouncival fought Benermion, all hisses and sharp claw-swipes. Benermion saw him coming and leaped back just in time to avoid his sharp bite, and Alonzo planted himself next to his mate.

Pouncival looked relatively unharmed, just a blossoming bruise on his face and the limp that had returned. He watched Benermion with an expression that was hard to parse: some mix of fear and anger, and minute little tremors shook his body, as if even now he was fighting a desire to turn around and flee. But he didn’t. As Benermion drew himself up to face them, Pouncival didn’t move, didn’t step back, a solid presence by Alonzo’s side.

It looked like he was done running. It looked like he was here to stay.

Benermion seemed to realize this too because he sneered. “All grown up now, aren’t you? Thinking you deserve a family, or a mate.”

Pouncival narrowed his eyes. “What’s it to you?”

Benermion snarled, everything about him suddenly ugly and monstrous. “Tribe is a lie, you fool! They’re all going to leave you eventually, can’t you see that? Even him! They’re all going to die, and then it’ll just be you, alone, shivering in the dark! Can’t you see I tried to save you from that? Can’t you see how futile it is to fight something as inevitable as death?”

Alonzo instinctively moved closer to Pouncival, but the younger tom didn’t shrink back. Instead, his gaze remained steady on Benermion. The tremors had faded.

“Someone once told me that it isn’t about when we die but how we live,” Pouncival said, as something warm blossomed inside Alonzo. “So thanks, Ben, but I’ll take my chances.”

And Alonzo saw the instant Benermion realized he’d lost, wholly and completely. The other cat’s face twisted, warped with fury into something almost unrecognizable as every muscle in his body tightened.

“I should’ve killed you, you little bitch!” he roared, and leaped. Pouncival gasped and sprang back, but Alonzo was there, throwing his weight into Benermion to send the other cat flying, and he didn’t hesitate. He glanced at Pouncival, and saw the moment when his mate understood. As Pouncival nodded and turned to spring up atop a nearby pile of cars, Alonzo launched himself at Benermion, seizing the older cat by the scruff and hauling him toward the wall. Benermion screamed and flailed, claws scrabbling futilely at the earth, but Alonzo knew what he was doing.

He knew exactly how they would end this.

He released Benermion a few feet away from the wall, next to the teetering remains of a giant, rusted orange excavator. As the other cat roared and swiped at him, Alonzo ducked out of the way, spinning his body and striking out with his hind legs as hard as he could. He felt his back paws connect with Benermion’s jaw with a splintering  _ crack! _ and looked up just in time to see Pouncival land atop the excavator’s mangled arm, the whole thing tilting with a groan as it took his weight.

Benermion flew backward into the dirt with a whump. Alonzo sprinted out of the way. And, as they all watched, Pouncival took careful aim, crouched, and leapt from the excavator at exactly the right angle, no hesitation, no trouble at all from his leg.

Metal ground and screeched as the excavator tilted, tipped—then toppled. Benermion looked up and screamed—and disappeared beneath a ton of crashing, solid steel.

In the silence that settled over the Junkyard, the only sound to be heard was Sassebo’s broken sobs.

His shoulder stung, so Alonzo took a moment to clean out the wound. Soft footfalls approached and he turned to accept his mate, closing his eyes and breathing in Pouncival’s scent as the younger tom pressed up against him. “You okay?” he asked.

Pouncival snorted. “I’m not the one bleeding all over the place.”

“Hm.” Alonzo leaned in for a kiss. “Worth it.”

He felt more than saw Pouncival’s answering smile, and took a moment to just lose himself in his mate, in the soft warmth of his fur and the gentle, familiar press of his lips. It was over. After years of terror and distrust and deep, soul-shattering grief, Pouncival was finally free.

Someone cleared their throat behind them. Alonzo had half a mind to tell whoever it was to piss off; he and Pouncival had earned this, damn it, and anyone who didn’t want to watch them could just go bake a cake. But his mate pulled back and turned toward the noise. “Oh.”

Alonzo sighed and turned. Tugger watched them from where he still had Sassebo pinned beneath him, and though his crooked grin said he technically had no problem with them continuing on with their business, there was also a seriousness in his voice as he looked down at his captive. “What do you wanna do with her?”

Alonzo realized quickly that he wasn’t the one being asked, and neither was Munkustrap. Rather, Tugger looked directly at Pouncival, as did the other cats. Sometime during their fight with Benermion, the rest of the Jellicles had taken care of the remaining invaders; Bombalurina had blood running down the side of her face, but otherwise the rest of their tribe seemed to have gotten out of the skirmish in one piece. And now they all waited for Pouncival’s answer, because he was the one whom Sassebo had betrayed. He was the one who got to decide her fate.

Alonzo sat back, glancing at Pouncival. The younger tom, in turn, watched his sister as she curled beneath Tugger, still crying, high-pitched, keening wails like a mother who had lost her kittens. It was a heartbreaking sound, shot through with love and devotion no matter how twisted it had been. It was, Alonzo imagined, the sound he himself would make if Pouncival was ever taken from him.

“Kill me,” Sassebo whispered, everything about her a broken shadow. “Please, I can’t…it hurts, just kill me…”

“No.”

They all turned. Pouncival nodded at Tugger. “Let her go.”

Tugger obeyed, lifting himself up and backing up a few steps to join Mistoffelees. But he didn’t say anything, simply watching as Sassebo slowly got to her feet, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stared at her brother. “ _ Why? _ ”

There were, Alonzo imagined, many things she was asking. Why won’t you kill me? Why did you leave me all those years ago? Why didn’t you die like you were supposed to?

But Pouncival just sighed, looking all of a sudden very tired. “Go away, Sassebo. Don’t ever come back here.”

Sassebo bared her teeth even as her voice continued to tremble. “You don’t deserve to be family!”

It was meant to cut deep, and maybe in another time, it might have. But as it stood, Pouncival simply watched his sister, nothing but pity in his eyes. “Maybe not yours,” he said, then nodded at Alonzo. “But this is my tribe, Sassebo, and you’re not in it. So go away. If you come back, I’ll kill you.”

Sassebo hissed, back arched. Alonzo moved to Pouncival’s shoulder, ready to back him up if his sister decided to attack, but in the end, Sassebo didn’t. With a final, angry wail, she turned and launched herself up and onto the wall, just a quick flash of haunted eyes over her shoulder before she jumped off and disappeared.

And that was that.

The night’s drama over, the other Jellicles moved on to other tasks, a low murmur of conversation starting up as Munkustrap and the others milled and checked themselves over for injuries. No one approached them, and Alonzo suspected that was on purpose as he wrapped an arm around Pouncival, feeling his mate settle against his side with a tired sound, shoulders hunched.

“I don’t feel bad,” Pouncival murmured, “about Sassebo, or Benermion. I don’t really feel anything. What does that mean about me?” He didn’t seem to be aware that he was kneading the ground, so Alonzo took his paw and kissed it.

“That you’re you,” he answered. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Pouncival sighed and pressed closer. Alonzo let him and closed his eyes, breathing in his mate’s scent, and almost missed Pouncival’s next words, whispered into his neck. “Carbucketty.”

“What?”

Pouncival’s breath washed warm over his skin. “My Bond Name is Carbucketty.”

Something warm and wonderful washed through Alonzo, thrumming from a place deep inside him that was golden and glorious and spoke of forever. He tightened his grip, nosed into Pouncival’s soft fur, and answered, “Renfinnick.”

He didn’t see his mate’s smile, but it lit up the universe regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short epilogue to follow.


	5. Chapter 5

SOME YEARS LATER

Veronica had been looking forward to the Ball all year.

She was finally old enough to attend, having spent last year listening to the echoes of the songs through the Junkyard from the shelter of the kittens’ den. When she complained, Mother just smiled in that enigmatic way of hers, and said she’d understand when she got there.

And, as much as Veronica sometimes hated to admit it, Cassandra had been right.

As a young kitten still learning where all her limbs went, she wouldn’t have had a hope of keeping up with the older cats as they danced about the mainstage, graceful and tireless and achingly beautiful. Even now, as they took a pause to groom and socialize before the next performance, Veronica found herself out of breath, her feet aching and wanting only to curl up in the nearest den for a nap. But some part of her also still thrummed with excitement, especially the joy and anticipation of what was upcoming next in the Ball: the mating dance.

Each year, so her father Coricopat said, two cats would come together to declare themselves lifemates, an eternal devotion broken only by death, and oftentimes not even then. This year was dedicated to Etcetera, an older queen who sometimes looked after them when her parents were busy, and Alexandra, a tortoiseshell stray who had joined the tribe a couple seasons ago.

The mating dance itself was supposed to be a sight to behold; she remembered her parents returning from the previous year’s Ball gushing about the grace and beauty with which Jemima and Kacillian had performed. And certainly Veronica was looking forward to witnessing the elegant way Etcetera and Alexandra intended to announce their bond. But what she was most excited about wasn’t what the mating dance consisted of but what it allowed: an open invitation to explore potential bonds with other unmated cats, who under other circumstances she wouldn’t have any opportunity or reason to approach.

Of course, Veronica wasn’t like the other silly kittens, who continued to titter and swoon over the Rum Tum Tugger, weaving elaborate, impossible fantasies even though everyone knew he’d been lifemated to Mistoffelees for many years now. She knew better. There was someone in the tribe who was more handsome than Tugger, anyway, a more graceful dancer and a better fighter, and even though he was a sight older than she was, Veronica was sure Alonzo would be at least open to getting to know her better.

The black-and-white tom was, after all, known to be a bit of a flirt about the tribe, hanging about various queens with soft compliments and alluring smiles. She didn’t know much about Alonzo’s mateships over the years beyond that he and Mother had a history, and apparently he’d treated her well. So even if Alonzo saw her as a little young this year, at least she could feel him out tonight, get an idea of whether being yearmates in the future might be a possibility for them, when she finally felt ready for that next step.

There was never any one thing that signaled the commencement of the next part of the Jellicle Ball; rather, it was more of a feeling, a shiver of delight through Veronica’s body as the Moon shone down and told her,  _ It’s time. _ As one, all the cats began moving to the center of the mainstage, and Veronica watched her peers begin to pair up, some having clearly planned this beforehand, others exploring possibilities with a boldness she knew they wouldn’t display otherwise.

As Etcetera and Alexandra approached each other near the center, a flash of contrasting colors caught her eye and Veronica turned to see Alonzo making his way across the mainstage. He moved with grace and coiled strength as always, every step sure and confident, and she felt something warm and hopeful unfurl deep in her belly. Here was her chance.

As she turned and moved to intercept him, another cat glided past her, a patchy mix of whites, blacks, and browns. Pouncival was a tom Veronica didn’t know very much about; he’d come by the kittens’ den once or twice to talk to her mother, and she knew he was a great hunter, almost singlehandedly responsible for saving the tribe from starvation during that awful winter last year. But other than that, the only thing Veronica knew about Pouncival was that he walked with a limp, some sort of long-ago injury that had never quite healed properly. It didn’t seem to bother him much, and her parents shushed her the one time she asked about it, so Veronica let it go. The limp didn’t seem to hold Pouncival back, anyway; she’d witnessed him dancing throughout the Ball with the same strength and precision and tireless enthusiasm as all the other older cats. 

Putting him from her mind, she refocused on Alonzo. Etcetera and Alexandra were beginning their dance, curling and twisting about each other like silken ribbons, which meant she only had a few moments at most to make her way to him, to perhaps rub up against him and claim his amused smile for herself—

Alexandra lifted Etcetera up in her arms, then sank their bodies down in a graceful dip. A few feet away, just out of Veronica’s reach, Alonzo slowed and smiled, open and warm and happy in a way Veronica had never seen, as Pouncival walked right up to him and pressed close with the ease and simplicity of long-term habit. Veronica blinked.

Oh.

As she watched, the two toms wound around each other, everything about them broadcasting a closeness and trust that spoke of years together. Alonzo ran a paw down Pouncival’s leg, almost proprietary, which earned him an amused flick of Pouncival’s tail and a kiss, slow and soft and thrumming with so much connection Veronica felt her own heart tighten. This wasn’t a shallow flirtation, a quick coming together of bodies for amusement or pleasure. This was deeper, older, something forged in burning fires and rendered unbreakable as a result. This was lifemate. This was forever.

This was something she had no right—or desire—to interfere with.

A soft touch to her shoulder, and Veronica turned to see her little brother looking up at her with a lopsided smile. Maxwell was barely old enough to be at the Ball, much less pursue any queens, and his discomfort showed in the way he tilted his head in invitation. Veronica shrugged and pulled him to her, nuzzling his soft fur as Maxwell purred in relief. 

Across the mainstage, Etcetera and Alexandra concluded their dance, sinking down into a sea of bodies to rest in the comfort of the new bond they had forged. Out of the corner of her eye, Veronica saw Alonzo and Pouncival do the same, curling up together so close there was no space left between them. One day, she thought, she’d ask for their story. Maybe there would be nothing there, just two cats who happened to come together in just the right way at the right time, as life dictated sometimes. But for some reason, she suspected there was more to it than that. Something about Pouncival’s limp, and the rest of the tribe’s reticence about it. Something about the way Alonzo looked at his mate, like Pouncival was everything good in the world, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep him.

Either way, it hardly mattered. Veronica yawned and curled into Maxwell, smiling a bit when she felt her brother knead at her belly as he dozed. She had time, and a multitude of future Balls to discover all the myriad secrets dwelling within this tribe she’d been born into. For now she had her family, in her arms and surrounding her with their warmth, and she couldn’t ask for anything more.

This Ball, she decided, was going to be magnificent.


End file.
